Home
by Conviction
Summary: There's a part of my soul, the core of who I am—and it's been tangled up with him, and I can't get free. It keeps dragging me back. I'm going crazy.


I dreamt once. I was a child, with too bright eyes and a too loud mouth. I spoke everything in my head then. Ironic—now I feel like I can never express fully what's going on in my thoughts. And when I do I mostly get strange looks from people. Nobody seems to see things the way I see them.

The water is bright today, shimmering and dancing beneath the sunlight. There's another world caught beneath its surface, just beyond where we can touch. I sit with my toes bobbing in and out of the sweet coldness, and there's something so familiar about the chill that it sends racing down my spine, but I can't remember what it is. There's a link missing. I can't shake the thought.

I used to sneak out of the house when I was little. I was searching for something, some answer. A reason for the dissatisfaction I felt inside. Because the colors were never bright enough to satisfy me. Sounds never seem to hold the right pitch. There's something wrong, something off. A piece missing, like there's an important part of _life_ that I'm missing.

I haven't dreamt since I was little.

I never told my parents. I never told anyone. I had always had such a vibrant imagination. They encouraged it and were amused by it when it was only during the night. But after we moved, after… it all changed. I never dreamed again after that. The night was filled with black and nothing except vague impressions and _feelings_—like the outline of a person without an identity, the shape of an object but no substance, no distinctness.

That is what fills my nights, sweeping over me, brushing like a hand against my cheek. A whisper, nothing more than an echo of something that has been or something that was meant to be. It's more real than any dream could be, this half-life. It stirs me, dragging me out of the dark void of blank forgetfulness. It _calls_, it drags me, pulling my conscious from its abyss and stirring it to a heightened awareness, away from the bustle of the day.

The voice… low and sweet, clear and hard and cold like the water. Singing words that fall through my nerveless thoughts, a lullaby that is not intended to put one to sleep. It quiets the feverish whirl of my mind, the chaos of my thoughts. It settles all that dampens and presses against my heart, and eases the weight from my soul like gentle hands taking my face into their hold. Whispering things that have no meaning, but _mean_ more than pages and pages in my own tongue.

The world has never fit quite right, since then. Because he is real, and I cannot reconcile him to the world. They will never understand. I will never understand. But I watch the water, and I sit in the park beneath the trees, and I know with absolute and unflinching conviction, in the fibers of who I am, that there is something more. Just beneath my fingertips. Touching, and yet separated by an immeasurable distance.

Pieces that never quite connect. Images that rest just out of focus. Memories that have been smeared beyond recognition. It's missing, and I can't move on. I was supposed to move on.

But I love him. There's a part of my soul, the core of who I am—and it's been tangled up with him, and I can't get free. It keeps dragging me back. I'm going crazy. But I remember… his solid presence, the quiet and yet undeniable force of his power. Not a direct image, not a face. Just… impressions, like prints molded into the depths of me, that my silly heart has traced again and again until it knows them by heart.

I remember desperation, that longing to throw yourself with all that you are after someone. Resolution to death, and wild laughter that was fierce in its strength. Emotions stronger and sharper than anything I've come in contact with since. I was so young. It's been so long. I don't even remember his name.

The sun is setting. I should be going home.

Home. The word is hollow; it doesn't fit—an empty shell of a thing. I'm like a stranger in a foreign land, an outside observer peaking into a normality that I can only take in with muted senses, not comprehending. But I stand, shaking my head. My legs are tired from standing all day at work. I once hoped for adventures. We all have such crazy ideas for the future when we're little. But now I just feel heavy and tired—the weight of the daily grind bearing down on every muscle until it drains the creativity and spark out of my skin and muscles.

We all want an escape, don't we?

The separation is killing me, my love.

_Chihiro…_

My blood ran cold in my veins, goose bumps streaking down my arms and legs. A ghost of a touch, a whisper on the wind. I could almost feel him, standing there. I couldn't turn around. My eyes pinched shut against the tears already burning behind my eyelids. I can't move. I can't bear him not being there when I look for him.

_I can't bear it anymore…_

Cold, calloused fingers wrapping tentatively around my own. A hand encasing the one hanging uselessly at my side. Firm and steady, blissfully solid. Lightheaded, I come spinning down to earth. Air rushes in and out of my lungs. I'm gasping, I realize, but I can't stop. I still can't look.

'Don't. Please,' I whisper, the two simple words choked and burning in my throat. I strangle them out to whoever might hear. I don't care. I can't take this anymore. I'm a fool, and I'm insane. I've lost my mind.

But I'm clutching the hand holding mine so safe and sound.

_Look at me._

'I can't.' The admission breaks whatever shred of strength I had left. The sobs hit hard and fast, doubling me over. My free hand clutches at my shirt over my heart. It's like I've been punched in the gut again and again, and something vital and necessary has been ripped out. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. The terror sears in my pulse, overriding all other thoughts, even the pain. I can't breathe.

Strong arms come around me, and there's something so familiar in that touch. Fingers brush the tears on my cheeks; more flood over them. I can't look; you're not real.

_Chihiro_.

And this time, I feel the warm breath against my ear, flooding heat through me.

_Breathe, my love. _

Lips brush my temple, whispering things that slide through my ears without leaving a trace.

_They tried to keep us apart, but no one had realized that we were already too much a part of each other to be separated. They won't take you from me again—I'll die first._

My heart stops beating, and I feel his steady and sure beneath my cheek as he draws my suddenly still body closer to his own. He lets me go when I start back with a shudder, but I can _feel_ the resignation heavy in his lingering touch.

His eyes are slate and emerald—piercing and brilliant like gemstones, filled with a hardness upon which men could break themselves. And a resolve that had brought him to me. There is no need for words, not now. Not when his presence is such a blessed relief. I touch his pale cheek with childlike wonder, and I'm swept away into a decade past, a life forgotten.

Everything missing falling back into place. Some long festering wound at last sealing up inside of me. I pitch forward into him, and release a shaking breath. The laughter long dormant kindles like fire in my blood, thrumming like a song in my heartbeat.

Home.

X

X

X

* * *

finally back on ff.n... and it's not with HP? Random Spirited Away fanfic! I really do love Chihiro and Haku... And I need to watch the movie again cause it's already been too long. I'm trying to start writing again so... please review! love you all!


End file.
